


Bullets

by babs



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort Bingo Round 10, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 01:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20301181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babs/pseuds/babs
Summary: Bullets can wound in more way than one.For my Hurt/Comfort Bingo square: Bullet Wounds





	Bullets

**Author's Note:**

> This is a post series fic. However, in my universe:
> 
> 1\. Jack has resigned his position at the Pentagon and returned to the SGC (although he isn't running it).
> 
> 2\. Janet Fraiser survived Heroes (see Devra's fic--Every New Beginning--for the reason why) and is still a part of the SGC.

"Jackson!" 

Mitchell's voice came over the radio but Daniel was too engaged in his current situation to respond.

Kinda busy, Cam, he thought as he held one hand clamped over his bleeding arm while the hand attached to said arm was pointing his gun at his attacker.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said. He was proud that his voice sounded fairly steady despite the fear coursing through him. The young man—no, a boy, Daniel corrected-- facing him held what looked like an old fashioned six shooter from the old West. It was that weapon that had fired a shot that sent a bullet into Daniel's right arm. There wasn't any pain at the moment and Daniel wasn't quite sure if it was shock or adrenaline or maybe nerve damage. "Just put down your weapon."

The younger man, a teenager really, shook his head. "You first, traitor."

"I'm not a traitor," Daniel said. "I told you we are explorers. Peaceful explorers."

The boy gave a pointed look at the gun currently pointed in his direction.

"I didn't shoot you," Daniel said, and then decided he was wrong about the pain.

"Jackson, come in." Mitchell's voice was way more insistent than it had been. 

"Tell him not to come," the boy said. "I will kill you—I will kill him."

Daniel hesitated, and then unclamped his hand to toggle his radio. "Hey, Cam." That alone would be an alert to the others. 

"You okay?" 

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Daniel said. He could feel warmth seeping down his arm. "Just chatting with someone."

"Oh," Mitchell said. "Well we'll leave you to it then."

Daniel looked at the boy. "There. That's done. Now how about you let me go?" He moved his hand slowly back to clamp it over the bleeding wound. Damn. Damn. He blinked a few times as his vision grayed out.

"No. You're coming with me." The boy gestured with the gun. "Quintan is going to be happy I've brought him a runaway."

"I'm not a runaway," Daniel said and then realized that no matter what he said it wasn't going to really change the kid's mind. If he could just get the gun away from him—there'd be a chance. He knew Cam and the others were on the way, but the boy was getting more and more nervous and Daniel couldn't help noticing the way his finger would twitch on the trigger every now and again.

He sighed and met the other's gaze. "Okay. Yeah. You're right." He slowly put down his own weapon, Jack's and Cam's voices screaming warnings in his head. The rest of SG-1 would be there soon enough, he thought. He just had to keep the kid calm until the rest showed up---and figure out a way to get the weapon from him.

"Get up," the boy said. He waved the gun.

"Um, you mind not doing that?" Daniel asked. He pulled his legs closer. "I'm not going to be able to get up on my own."

"So?"

"I need your help," Daniel said. He kept his voice lowered and his eyes toward the ground. Act submissive, let the other think he was in control.

The kid said something under his breath that Daniel interpreted as a curse word—some things were universal it seemed. But he stomped closer and leaned down. He gripped Daniel's shoulder, surprisingly strong and then slid his hand down under Daniel's arm. "Come on. Quintan is waiting."

Daniel kept his body limp, not making much an effort to help. He loosened his hand on the wound and as the kid put more of his weight into helping Daniel up, he grabbed for the gun. He had the weight on the kid despite his injury. But he hadn't counted on the teenager's determination to take Daniel back to his leader as a prize.

They struggled for possession of the gun. Daniel let out a scream as the kid kicked him in the arm but he didn't loosen his grip. Be a really good time for the rest of you to show up, he thought. And then he felt the kick of the gun and heard the report and there was silence.

"Jackson!" Cam's voice sounded extra loud and Daniel reached up dazedly towards his radio.

"Daniel." That was Sam. Right? Her hands were cool on his face. "Where are you hurt?"

Her voice seemed to be both in his ears and very far away.

"What do you need..." Okay, Vala was here too and he didn't understand how all their voices were coming through the radio.

"Dead." He heard Teal'c say and Cam said something else that he didn't quite catch.

Was he dead? He didn't think he was. His arm hurt—really really hurt.

"Jackson, look at me," Cam ordered and Daniel opened his eyes. He hadn't even known they were closed.

There was a body next to him, a young man, no, a kid, and his eyes were open to the sky. Oh no, oh no.

"...shock..." It was the only word of Sam's he understood and he was suddenly very cold and very tired. Maybe he was dead---or at least dying. He didn't really know but he did know that if he was, Jack was going to be really really pissed off when he came home. 

"Sorry, Jack," he heard someone say and then there was nothing at all.

* * * * *

"How's he doing, Doc?" Jack kept his voice low even though it wasn't likely Daniel would hear him.

Janet Fraiser smiled at him after giving the monitors over Daniel's bed another glance. "He'll be a bit uncomfortable for a time and he's not going to be happy to have to go through PT, but we're looking at a full recovery."

"He's still sleeping," Jack said and he realized he sounded more like a two year old whining than a general in the United States Air Force.

"He lost a lot of blood," she said. "He needs to sleep." She gave him a look that meant he'd better not so much as sneeze in Daniel's direction and disturb his rest. 

"Doc," Jack began and then stopped. He looked back at Daniel once more before looking at her. 

She smiled again and held up her left hand, the braced left hand. "Doctor Lam is as good as sewing him up as I used to be." 

Jack nodded and turned his attention back to Daniel. He took out his laptop—may as well get some paperwork done while Daniel slept on.

Mitchell came in some time later along with Vala—a very subdued Vala, Jack noted.

"He's stlll sleeping?" Mitchell asked, almost as if he was disappointed.

Jack smiled and shrugged.

"He looks better than he did," Vala said. Her expression was sorrowful. "At least he's cleaned up."

Jack raised an eyebrow as she continued. "There was all that blood and the other guy dead beside him."

Oh shit, Jack thought. He hadn't known that. 

"Later," Mitchell said and gave Vala a pointed look before they left.

Carter and Teal'c came in, quiet and for a time, it was as if they were a whole team again. Jack sighed—he'd thought he wouldn't miss it, but here he was. Back at the SGC and his heart in his throat every time SG-1—the new SG-1 went through the Gate.

"Hey," Carter said and Jack watched as Daniel frowned at all of them.

"Not dead?" he asked. 

"You are not," Teal'c said. "You are in the SGC infirmary and Doctor Fraiser has said you will recover."

"Good," Daniel said as Jack spooned some ice chips into his mouth and Jack wasn't sure if it was a comment on his recovery or gratefulness for the ice chips.

Daniel soon drifted off once again and Fraiser shooed Jack out of the infirmary until the morning.

* * * * 

Daniel listened to Jack puttering in the apartment's kitchen. There was a lot of banging and he heard a muffled curse but he was too comfortable and too tired to get up to see what Jack was doing.

PT had hurt like hell today and all he really wanted was to spend an evening watching hockey with Jack. Go figure, he thought. He was actually looking forward to a hockey game. But his team had called and he hadn't had the heart to tell them not to visit. He sighed and wiggled his sock clad feet. Maybe he could get a nap in beforehand.

He stretched out on the sofa and let his mind drift. 

The gunshot echoed in his brain and he swore he could see the trajectory of the bullet. He tried to stop it—to keep the boy's brain from seeping out of the bullet hole but his hands were useless, turned to weapons. He searched his surroundings for the tools of his trade, a trowel, brushes, notebooks, books, scrolls, pens, and sieves and there they were, floating in a pool of blood. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't grab hold—not with hands that had turned into guns. As he watched, they all slipped away from him, swirling in a whirlpool of blood. And then they were gone—everything that he'd worked on, worked for, everything he'd loved about his profession. The voices began, cries of horror, of pain, of condemnation for his sins, and the loudest of all was a young boy's calling him a traitor. He looked down into the pit again, only to see bodies torn apart. They were moving, raising shattered arms towards him and he scrambled backwards only to come against a figure robed in black. It pushed him forward again, pushed his head towards the pit. 

"Who are you, Daniel Jackson?" the voice asked. He forced his gaze up towards it, towards that hooded, shadowed face—and he let out a gasp when he saw it was his own, smeared with blood and gore.

"Daniel!" 

Someone called his name—sharp, strong, and he opened his eyes.

"Jack?" he asked. He struggled to sit up, let Jack put a hand to his back. 

"Bad dream?" Jack's hand was a warm weight, a grounding touch.

Daniel took a shuddering breath, trying to shake off the images of his dream. He swallowed hard, once, twice, and he swore he could taste blood, smell the coppery tang of it, feel its weight on his hands. He had to look to make sure none was there.

"You could say that," he finally said to Jack. 

"You wanna…" Jack made a motion towards his mouth.

"No." Daniel looked away. 

"Okay," Jack said. He slid his hand to Daniel's nape, gave a gentle squeeze and then stood up. "Supper's ready if you want to eat."

Daniel stood, surprised his legs were steady and followed.

* * * *

He finished loading the dishwasher, all the while aware of Jack's scrutiny.

"We can call the others if you want. I'm sure they'd understand you're not up to company."

"Who said I'm not up for company?" Daniel snapped. He straightened, pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses and then for good measure glared at Jack. 

"You're tired," Jack pointed out.

He was right—Daniel knew that, but there was no way he wanted to sleep and dream of all the killing he'd done again. "I want to see them."

"Okay." Jack shrugged. "But pretending things didn't happen doesn't mean they didn't."

"You take lessons from Oma?" Daniel closed the dishwasher drawer with more force than necessary and winced as the silverware rattled.

"Danny," Jack said.

"I don't like when you call me that. You know that." Daniel stalked out of the kitchen, Jack following at his heels.

"It was you or him," Jack said in a low voice. "And I gotta tell you, I'm glad it was you."

"I said earlier I didn't want to talk about it," Daniel said. He sat down on the sofa, cradled his arm when he jarred it. "Besides, everyone's going to be here in a few minutes."

Jack sat down beside him, pulled him a bit closer and kissed him. "I worry. So sue me."

Daniel snorted and leaned away. "I'm okay." But he wasn't. He knew he wasn't. Surely he could pretend to be for the rest of the evening. Or hell, maybe even the rest of his life.

* * * * 

Jack watched as Vala teased Daniel yet again. On another night, he might have even found it amusing but tonight? Daniel's smile had grown brittle, his shoulders rigid. 

"Excuse me," Daniel said abruptly. He stood up and went out onto the balcony, closing the sliding door behind him.

"Sir? Jack?" Carter said. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get her to call him by his first name easily. 

"I'll take care of it," Jack said. "You want to…?" He made a twirling motion with his hand.

"We're on it," Carter said. She retrieved coats from the spare room and shooed Mitchell and Vala out the door first. 

"Daniel Jackson is troubled," Teal'c said. "You will help him, O'Neill."

"I will," Jack said. It had been a command after all. 

"He's going to be cold," Carter said as she put on her parka, hat, and scarf. She cast a worried look at Daniel's back.

"I know," Jack said. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa. "See. I am capable of taking care of things."

Carter bit her lip and then nodded. "I know you are, si...Jack." She took a deep breath. "If you need us, call."

"Yes, Carter." He closed and locked the door behind them and stood for a long moment, a brief memory of another balcony in another apartment building with a lost Daniel standing on the wrong side of the railing making his heart beat just a bit faster.

But that wasn't this Daniel—not this Daniel who was hurting for reasons Jack knew but didn't quite understand.

* * * *

"Hey." Daniel didn't bother turning to face Jack. "Guess I wasn't good company after all."

He felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders and Jack stood next to him—another warmth.

"They understand." 

Daniel looked at him—Jack kept his eyes fixed on the gently falling snow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Carter and Teal'c are worried about you. I think Carter thinks you're gonna catch pneumonia and Teal'c has ordered me to fix you."

Daniel shivered despite the blanket but he wasn't ready to go back inside and face everyone.

"Not Cam and Vala?"

Jack shrugged. "Vala probably thinks sex will solve the problem and Mitchell still hero-worships you. But yes, they're worried too, you idiot."

"I love it when you talk dirty," Daniel said and rolled his eyes. He looked down and realized his socks were getting wet.

"Come back inside." Jack put his arm over Daniel's shoulders, pulled him close. "They left."

Daniel went back inside and headed for the coffee maker. 

"You think that's a good idea this time of night?"

"I think that I'm not going to sleep anyway." Daniel took great care in measuring the grounds, filling the carafe with water. 

He heard Jack walk away, head towards their bedroom. He came back a few minutes later and pulled a chair close before sitting and tapping Daniel's leg.

"Lift," Jack said.

Daniel looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Socks," Jack said, waving a thick knit pair. "Your feet have to be cold."

Daniel held onto the counter and lifted his foot. Jack's hand felt hot on his foot and he sighed when Jack slipped the dry sock on. They repeated the process.

"You want a cup?" Daniel asked as he grabbed his favorite mug.

"Nah, I'm good," Jack said and headed into the living room.

Daniel took his time filling his mug, adding two teaspoons of sugar and stirring. The image of the kid came unbidden to his mind and he fought it down. Don't think about it, he reminded himself. 

He took a few deep breaths and a sip of coffee and walked into the living room with a smile pasted on.

He sat on the sofa, put his feet up against Jack's thigh. Jack pulled them onto his lap and rubbed them briskly. 

"You're still cold," Jack said. "You're shivering."

"Good thing I'm drinking coffee then," Daniel said and held up his mug in a mock salute.

"I know what happened," Jack said. 

"Really," Daniel said. It wasn't a question.

"I still know how to read a report," Jack told him. "I know you fought for the gun. He got shot."

"No. He got killed," Daniel said. "I killed him. And I told you I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm talking about it. You don't have to," Jack said. 

Daniel gripped his mug tighter and regretted it as the muscle in his arm ached. "You'll forgive me if I don't listen, I hope."

"So there's this guy I know," Jack said. He rested his head on the back of the sofa, stared up at the ceiling. "And he's died more times than I can count. Even did something they call ascension and got kicked out of the glowysphere. He's got a tough job, you know? Because where he works, they're always asking him to be a soldier—and he's not. He never has been, never will be. He is a warrior though. A fighter."

Daniel put down his mug of coffee. His stomach churned. "Stop it."

Jack ignored him and kept going. "The thing is his weapon is words—and he's very good with them. Better than I'll ever be. And more often than not, the people in charge forget just how good he is with them and expect him to use bullets instead."

Daniel's throat tightened and he closed his eyes. When had holding a weapon become more familiar than holding a pen? When had he begun to know how to use a P90 without thinking? His eyes burned along with his throat and he swallowed hard.

"Now I'm not a psychologist or claim to know the human mind, but I do know this guy very very well. And what I know is that he's never stopped using words and trying to find a peaceful way to settle things."

Daniel shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose hard—hard so that it hurt and he'd forget.

"I know you," Jack said then and he tightened his hand on Daniel's ankle. "I know you tried to talk him out of it, I know your first thought wasn't to kill him or even hurt him."

"He was just a kid," Daniel said. "Maybe fifteen or sixteen and I couldn't get him to listen." Daniel stared at his hands. It was too painful to look at Jack.

"I know," Jack said. "And I know that you're blaming yourself and trying to figure out where it all went wrong."

Daniel felt the prickle of tears and bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't know who I am any longer. Every day is just another battle for my soul."

Jack stayed silent, but didn't relinquish his hold.

"I think each bullet's left a hole in me, and I'm so tired." The last word came out as his voice cracked. The tears he'd tried so hard to stop began to fall and he ignored them. 

Jack shifted and pulled him close. "I know."

Words spilled forth—guilt, pain, fear, loss, failure—and Jack held on, anchoring him, reminding him that he was still human.

He finally stopped talking—his voice nearly gone. His head hurt and he relaxed further into Jack's embrace. He felt Jack press a kiss to his temple and then to the corner of his mouth. He was too spent to respond.

"You're still you," Jack said, very quietly. "You still search for the peaceful solution, for using words instead of weapons. I think it's a fundamental part of you—to hope that somewhere deep inside every one of us there is good just waiting to be set free."

"You think so?" His voice sounded broken.

"I know so," Jack said with that supreme confidence that had made him such a good leader. "You make all of us better people. Remind us that there is another way."

"Not all the time." Daniel sighed and jerked slightly as he felt himself drifting to sleep.

"No," Jack admitted. "But more than enough."

Daniel pulled back a little and then sighed and rested his head back on Jack's shoulder. Maybe more than enough was the most he could hope for at the time.

"Rest," Jack said. "I've got you. I'm here."

Daniel nodded and opened his eyes to look down at his hands—flesh and blood—just plain flesh and blood as always. He held onto Jack's shirt and let himself surrender, secure in the knowledge that as long as Jack was there, no bullets could follow him into sleep.


End file.
